Minutia
by Florentine Quill
Summary: Several drabbles illuminating some of the little details of Kooza. Set Pre Show and Pre Athanasius.
1. Control

Sarkan growled as he stalked through Kooza. He rubbed at his left wrist distractedly. Underneath his tunic's sleeve, the binding there burned, mocking him. He remembered Athanasius's look of cruel pleasure as he had crafted the bindings and set them, tracing delicate fingers over Sarkan's bared torso. Sarkan stopped, bowing his head to hide the ugly snarl as he recalled Athanasius's delighted laughter as he had gasped and writhed in pain as the death god's bindings had curled around him with chilling, wraith fingers, sinking into and around his own fiery powers, cutting him off-!

"Trickster? Are you well?" Sarkan's head snapped up, focusing on the girl standing before him. He considered her question, a darkling smile playing about his lips.

"…Nay," he replied after a moment. He moved towards her and trailed a deceptively light hand over flame colored locks before tangling his fingers in a rough grip. "Nay, I am not well," he repeated softly, staring fixedly at her. "But there's nothing anyone can do about that, is there?" He tightened his hold on her hair, feeling a streak of ruthless pleasure as her breathing hitched in pain.

"L-Lokisson?" she choked out, going rigid as Sarkan placed a gentle finger over her lips, silencing her.

"Shhshhshh," he murmured, stepping forward. The girl stumbled back until she slammed against the wall Sarkan had been aiming for. He pinned her there, one hand still gripping her hair, the other one caressing her hip. He leaned forward until there was barely a sliver of space between them. He smiled, teeth gleaming whitely sharp in a mocking smile. He felt her shiver as he leaned down slowly to inhale deeply, chuckling softly as he breathed in her scent, sharp with fear.

He hummed softly, eyes drifting shut and he abruptly relaxed as he felt the control he craved, control over _his_ world and _his_ creations. He rested his head on the girl's shoulder, ignoring her violent shudder as he sighed softly and mourned the loss of his powers.

* * *

**AN: And here is the first of the three Pre Show drabbles, and probably the most important. While I kept the description ambiguous, make no mistake: It's Aysu and not Azar who ran afoul of Sarkan here. This incident is the main reason Aysu is so very wary of Sarkan and doesn't believe that he cares for Azar up until Awakening. It also shows Sarkan's darker side during the first two centuries he was bound. He hadn't started maturing yet and spent those centuries sulking, as much as it pains me to say so. Think Draco Malfoy. **


	2. Intruder

Sarkan stilled. He frowned, silently moving from the common room to the lower balcony. "Somebody's here who shouldn't be…" he murmured. Sliding back into the shadows of the balcony, he waited patiently. He didn't have long to wait and raised an eyebrow as a raggedy looking man in a rumpled suit stumbled into view. Several heartfelt French curses drifted up to the balcony.

Sarkan smiled cruelly and inhaled deeply, gathering his power close to his skin and abruptly appearing in front of the intruder. He smirked at the man's shout and stalked forward, circling him in distinctly predator like fashion. "Well, well, well," he purred, finally coming to a stop in front of the shifty figure. "What do we have here?" He listened intently to the stream of French spat out at him, smirking. "A pickpocket, hmm?" Sarkan titled his head thoughtfully, contemplating his options. He could banish the man from Kooza and back to whatever he had come from…Or he could integrate the rogue into his world.

"I think I will let you stay," he finally said. "But keep your antics confined to the clowns and those that the clowns bring in." The pickpocket wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth to protest, only to stop as Sarkan grabbed his jaw forcefully, fingers digging in painfully as his eyes glittered malevolently. "Do we have a deal? I can always send you back to wherever you came from…"

"…Yes," the criminal forced out through gritted teeth. Sarkan smiled, teeth gleaming sharp in the low light of the bataclan's entrance.

"Welcome then," Sarkan intoned, sweeping a majestic arm and opening the bataclan, "to _Kooza_."

* * *

**AN: Eh, not one of my better ones in my opinion. Apart from the Pickpocket, the only ones within Kooza who weren't created by Sarkan are the clowns. They used to be mischief spirits in a minor pantheon but when that pantheon faded away, the clowns made a deal with some unknown entity. They would continue to exist and hold onto one aspect of their power but they exist in a child like state of insanity. **

**Sarkan discovered them and, able to identify with them to a certain extent, adopted them into Kooza, much to his everlasting regret. The power that the clowns got to hold onto is the ability to pull random people out of the real world, neatly explaining the audience/plant participation you see in the show. However in this Koozaverse, it entails of a lot of putting people back and memory wiping on Sarkan's part. Except for when Cyrus was in Kooza, then Sarkan made him do it xD **


	3. Enticement

Sarkan didn't bother to hide his smirk as he felt several pairs of hungry eyes latch onto him as he moved easily through the crowded courtyard of Trinity College surrounding the old library that had been converted to a tourist attraction. He liked visiting this world, taking inspiration from the various generations of humans and taking a certain glee in employing a few small tricks or flaunting the lesser of his powers.

His lip curled upwards for a moment as his pride purred under the attention but he smoothed his features, fingers flickering over his suit's plain black sleeves and needlessly adjusting his tie. He sighed softly, briefly wondering if he could get away with wearing his usual ensemble of eye catching blues, orange and white. Maybe not, he thought, glancing behind him and spotting the group of women (ranging in age from older teens to middle aged) currently eyeing him like a slice of prime steak.

He slipped into the actual library, sliding through the throngs of loud and obnoxious tourists easily with a few twisting motions of his fingers, moving up to the head of the queue to gaze at the famous Book of Kells. His fingers itched to stroke the vellum pages and feel the texture of fading ink and flaking gold leaf. He studied the intricate knotwork intently, storing some of the basic patterns in his memory for later use and experimentation. He wanted to know more, to see the Book in its entirety…

Sarkan glanced around, looking for someone official, someone in charge…Ah. Instead of smiling predatorily like he wanted to, he glided over to the aging woman, dressed sensibly in a black jacket and skirt. "Excuse me, ma'am…" he murmured, eyes gleaming as he spotted her security ID. She was the exhibit director.

The woman turned her attention to him, a smile faltering as she caught sight of the colorful markings spread around Trickster's warm brown eyes. "What can I help you with…sir?" she asked, the slight creasing of her forehead, eyes and lips downward betraying her distaste for the "man" before him.

"I was wondering if I might be able to peruse that _fascinating_ piece of artistic literature in private after the slavering hoards had left," he requested in a low voice that had had women weakening for centuries.

To her credit, she didn't cave immediately. She took a deep breath, straightening her spine and glaring at him through square spectacles. "Young man, the Book of Kells is not available private viewing unless-"

"Oh, I'm well aware, but surely such a woman as yourself could arrange something…" Sarkan murmured, stepping forward as his fingers twined behind his back. She took a step back, trembling visibly as Trickster's not-so-subtle magic took hold.

"I…I might be able to do something," she murmured, a little breathlessly. The Trickster smiled and waited as she moved away.

_Ah, mortals…So easily enticed. _

_

* * *

_**AN: Because let's face it: Sarkan is freaking gorgeous and damn well knows it. He's not above using his looks to get what he wants though if he pulled this kind of stunt and Azar got wind of it... Well, this is set before their relationship starts xD **

**Whenever Sarkan visits the real world, his markings appear to be faded tattoos- he enjoys the shock value- and his normally white eyes appear to be brown. That's my compromise between the white eyes you see in the show and the brown eyes you see in the advertisements. Those little inconsistencies drive me nuts so I fix them in my Koozaverse. On another note, the Book of Kells really is housed at the Old Library at Trinity College in Dublin.**

**This also marks the end of the Pre Show arc (Not much of an arc, I know, only three drabbles). Next chapter and beyond is all Pre Athanasius. Included in that arc is the main reason why Sarkan acts so differently towards Cyrus. I'm curious to see if anyone has guessed at that reason, since I dropped a couple of clues in Metamorphosis. Oh- Don't take that as a plead to review, it's really not supposed to be. I hate writers who demand reviews in exchange for chapters.  
**


	4. Unspoken

Cyrus stood, entranced, watching the trapeze artist fly through the air above him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Trickster staring intently up at the trapeze artist, his hands moving in constant motion, all tightly controlled arcs and flowing finger movements. Cyrus sighed, content to revel in the sheer amazement and wonder he felt here, in this new world. He stroked the fabric of the trapeze artist's coat, fingering the smooth silk and rougher tulle.

Gold flashed out of the corner of his eye and he turned curiously to see the Trickster turn towards him. Cyrus froze, his stomach filling with an icy sludge as he saw the Trickster's expression. The older man's face was half shadowed but his eyes were clearly visible, burning with a fierce, primal, power. In that one moment Cyrus was suddenly very aware of the nature of the…personage standing less than three feet away from him.

This…was not a man, not in the strictest sense of the word. This was an entity, a being; some sempiternal force of chaos that had dragged him into this darkling world of phenomenon and enchantment. And all of that incredible power was focused in the two eyes locked with his, an unspoken message present: The trapeze artist. Was. _His._

_

* * *

_**AN: And here's the start of the Pre Athanasius arc. Names would technically be the next drabble but I had to post that separately as the introduction to my Koozaverse and so that all of you wouldn't be sitting at your computers and wondering who the hell Sarkan and Cyrus and Ilkin were. So I'm skipping to the next drabble, Kite.  
**

**The purpose of this drabble is twofold: It shows how Cyrus first regarded Sarkan before Sarkan started being nicer (in his own way...) and to show that while Azar is more obviously possessive of Sarkan, Sarkan is just as possessive of her in his own way. I'm not entirely certain why the Trickster felt the need to impress his possessiveness on the Innocent but watching the trapeze act on the DVD, you see the Trickster turn towards the Innocent (I swear, I'm going to start referring to them as TT and TI to save myself the trouble of typing) and give him a dark look that screams "She's mine. Don't touch." before smirking and walking offstage, leaving the Trapeze Artist to her act.  
**


	5. Kite

Sarkan frowned, looking down at the worn out kite he had inelegantly yanked away from Cyrus before the boy had clambered up on the blanket to be tossed about by the willing Charivari. He had passed it off to Cita, who had obediently scampered away with the raggedy item. Yet less than five minutes later, Cyrus had had the kite back in his possession. Sarkan fingered the patches and thinning canvas, silently marveling over how the thing was managing to stay whole, let alone fly. Hearing footsteps approach, Sarkan banished the kite with a sharp gesture, the idea of presenting Cyrus with a new kite in the back of his mind. He smiled at the thought, looking up to see Cyrus stand in the door, looking anxious.

"Sarkan you haven't seen my kite have you?" Cyrus asked, biting his lower lip.

Sarkan repressed the small flicker of guilt he felt before shaking his head. "Have you checked the upper balcony?" he asked. Cyrus glanced down at the floor before shaking his head and hurrying away. Sarkan raised an eyebrow, wondering what made the kite so precious to Cyrus. Sarkan waited for a moment before following Cyrus, curious to see what the boy would do if his kite did not reappear.

Abruptly Sarkan stopped, eyes widening as he felt a burst of power from above him, tightly controlled and completely unexpected. He was halfway up the stairs to the upper balcony when Cyrus clattered down the stairs, a worn and familiar kite clutched in hand. Sarkan's eyebrows rose but he smiled. "Found it," Cyrus said cheerfully. Sarkan nodded, moving to one side to let Cyrus scurry past him.

Once the boy was safely out of sight, Sarkan turned his attention to the fading remnants of power. Yes…There was a definite elemental flavor to the strands. Sarkan hummed thoughtfully as he turned to walk back down the stairs. The elemental power coupled with the fact that Cyrus had instinctively summoned his kite-something that flew on the wind, flighty and fragile- from where ever Sarkan had banished it gave a very telling hint as to the nature of Cyrus's powers. He would think on this...

* * *

**AN: I think I mentioned this in another drabble, but Cyrus's kite eventually becomes his...I don't know, it's like Sarkan's scepter. He instinctively imbues it with his power and is very important to him. It doesn't actively help him control his power or have any special effects, but it's still important. It also becomes his symbol/signature unlike Sarkan's scepter. People see his kite and know it's him. Of course, that can always backfire, as will be explored in a latter drabble...**


	6. Observation

Sarkan idly draped himself over the railing of the band's balcony, watching Cyrus play with the dog, Iman. Behind him the singer and musicians provided a soft background piece. Tilting his head back, Sarkan favored the signer with a gentle smile. She inclined her head in reply and kept singing as Sarkan turned his attention back to Cyrus, frowning slightly as he contemplated the boy.

He was clumsy, stumbling and stammering with everyone but Sarkan and the littlest contortionist, Cita. He was so _uncertain_ of himself, terrified of making a mistake with his powers or offending any of Kooza's inhabitants…Sarkan's lip twitched up into a brief snarl. The boy had no pride whatsoever and that exasperated Sarkan on a deep, personal level. Sarkan gathered his own powers close to himself, flickering down to watch Cyrus from the shadows of the bataclan's entrance. Cyrus chose that moment to trip over his gangly feet and bowl over, not only himself, but Iman as well.

Sarkan winced, frankly wondering how Cyrus could have _ever _possibly been descended from him.

* * *

**AN: Behold, the reason why Sarkan treats Cyrus so differently! I didn't exactly try to hide it in the drabbles I posted before this but..*shrugs* Now it's written out in black and white: Cyrus is (one of*) Sarkan's many times great grandson. Due to one of Sarkan's bindings, he can't tell Cyrus this.  
**

**Sarkan took an interest in Cyrus for one reason: Cyrus is a throwback to Sarkan in terms of power, much like Sarkan is a throwback to Loki in terms of power/personality. Sarkan is under obligation to teach Cyrus control of that power because he is one of the few people with a comparable level of power. That obligation is doubled because he is related to Cyrus. Technically their relationship doesn't have to progress beyond teacher-student but it does. Admittedly this is helped along by the fact that Sarkan is making Cyrus forget about his grandfather while in Kooza. Add in Cyrus's near hero worship of Sarkan and you have something much more...not parental, not exactly fraternal, but deep and platonic. **

***one of: Sarkan has more descendents scattered about the world. It's just that they don't have enough power for him to notice them, if they have any at all. Combine that with Sarkan's insular tendencies and none of them are ever going to learn that they are descended from a Norse god. **


	7. Imperfections

Cyrus slumped down on the King's balcony, his legs dangling over the edge. He braced his forehead against the sturdy railing, watching some of the Charivari practice with the large balls they balanced on so effortlessly off to one side. In front of him, Azar swung easily on her trapeze, flipping and twisting about. Privately, Cyrus thought she was pushing herself a little harder, a little further, trying some of her most elaborate tricks. She flashed past him and he shivered at the intense expression she wore, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. Sighing, Cyrus peered down. Sarkan was leaning out over the railing of the band's balcony, his gaze fixed on Azar. His hands were constantly in motion, stroking the air in different forms and gestures.

Cyrus felt a sharp pang of longing and jealously as he watched Sarkan. The older being was everything he was not: Confident, powerful. He commanded everyone's respect with no effort…

"He's not perfect you know." Cyrus jumped, twisting around to see Cita walk up to him. She folded herself neatly next to him, legs tucked neatly over each other in such a way as to make Cyrus's hips ache.

"How do you know? He…can do _anything_," he muttered. "All he has to do is look at someone and they do what he wants or he makes one of his _gestures_," he waved his hands in a feeble attempt to recreate of Sarkan's elegant movements.

Cita nodded slowly. "He's…incredibly charismatic," she admitted. "And we want to please him. It's part of who we are." Cyrus nodded, scowling. "Still, he has his faults. He snores for one thing. He also has an outrageous sweet tooth."

Cyrus snickered under his breath before a thought occurred. "Wait a minute…How do you know he snores?" he asked warily.

Cita rolled her eyes and jerked her chin at Azar as the trapeze artist flashed past. "Azar told us. It's rather reassuring to think about: Sarkan Lokisson, the great and impersonal Trickster- snoring. As for his sweet tooth…" she grinned. "He created us, so there's a little bit of him invested in us. And we won't ever turn down something sweet. Ilkin jokes that the only reason Sarkan made him was to make lots of desserts."

Cyrus smiled, regarding Sarkan curiously now as the man focused on enhancing Azar's abilities as she swung through the air. The Trickster didn't seem like the kind to crave sweet things... "What else," he asked, turning to face Cita more fully. A grin, reminiscent of the Trickster's own smirk, spread across Cyrus's face. "I want to know everything."

* * *

**AN: Admit it, the though of Sarkan _craving _sweet things is a little jarring xD But it's a quirk, one that Cyrus can relate to, one that makes Sarkan seem more human. Ilkin is Kooza's primary baker/chef alongside being the Charivari leader (He's a master of crockpot recipes.) Periodically someone gets a craving for something and Ilkin will whip it up en masse since he knows that once everyone hears that he's baking, everyone will want some. He and Cyrus were baking cookies (chocolate chip for the really curious) for that reason at the beginning of Runes, when Sarkan met a very large bowl of lard. **

**One more drabble left in this series and then I can start posting the second SarkanAzar drabble, dealing with the fallout of Manipulations. I have two drabbles left to write in that series but they should be finished quickly. **


	8. Possessive

Azar leaned her head back and sighed, closing her eyes, doing her best to simply not think of anything…If not for the fact that she was perched on her trapeze, high up in the air, she would've settled back and tried to nap. Her eyes flickered open as she felt someone watching her. Glancing down, she saw Cyrus studying her curiously from the King's balcony. Restraining the urge to snarl at him, Azar let the trapeze lower itself enough to be within hearing range. Cyrus looked up to her, tilting his head to one side. "You don't like me," he said thoughtfully. "Why?"

Azar let out a harsh bark of laughter, nodding her agreement. "Many reasons," she replied shortly. Still, she swung the trapeze so that she could land lightly on the balcony. She smirked mentally at Cyrus's surprise and fright as she was suddenly _there _and not-quite looming over him. "You're young," she said softly, malice lacing her voice. "You have the same powers as Sarkan. You don't have any control over them. He's decided to teach you; taking him away from the rest of Kooza." With every reason, she stepped towards him, backing him against a wall. Azar's arms shot out, blocking off any escape as she stared at him intently, eyes narrowed as she searched for what made him important enough to hold Sarkan's attention. "What makes you so _special_," she snarled under her breath.

"I-I d-don't know!" Cyrus wailed, growing frightened at Azar's almost feral expression.

Azar stabbed an accusing finger towards the bataclan. "He doesn't bow to _anyone _but he bows to _you_!" she howled, her chest aching at the memory of Sarkan bowing, however gracefully, to the boy.

"I know!" Cyrus shouted back, fear spurring his actions. "He bows and I _know_ I'm not worthy of it! I don't know _why_ he chose me out of any number of people; all I know is that I'm _here _and I have th-this _gift_ and he's the only one who can help!" He stopped, panting with shaking shoulders as he tried to keep from crying and failing.

Azar watched him before she whirled around, clenching her fists around the railing of the balcony in frustration. "Damn Trickster and his games!" she hissed back. When she turned to ask another question, she growled. The boy- exercising intelligence for the first time within Azar's recollection- had fled.

* * *

**AN: Proof that Azar's anger over Cyrus's being in Kooza was building up until it exploded in Manipulations. It didn't come out of nowhere and she has her reasons. Um...This is the end of Minutia, I'll start posting the second AzarSarkan series tomorrow. I'd do it tonight but the last two aren't quite finished and I'm tired xD**


End file.
